Anger Management
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *FraIta one-shot* France finds a furious Italy worth pursuing. But the road to get him angered again isn't as easy as he hopes. Contains lemon.


**SOY:** this was created because I enjoy pairing Italy up with different characters. Actually, this is a fill for a Kink meme request that asked for Nation A to notice how Italy is sexy when he's angry. Then offer sexytimes to help Ita get rid of his anger.

Thus, FranceItaly. There is smut at the end, so please beware. If you are not comfortable with male having his way with another male, please leave now. Thank you.

……………………………………………

**Rating**: M (for male on male sex)

**Warnings:** Yaoi, male on male sex. Mentions of soccer play?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. I do not make money for writing about it, but I do have fun.

……………………………………………

**Anger Management**

**One–shot**

France softly glided through the main room of Italy's house, a smirk lifting his lips upwards as he did so.

He'd decided to visit his dear Ita out of boredom, as both Spain and England had not enjoyed his visits (after he'd bothered and molested them a bit, their respective partners had chased him out, both none–too–gently).

He was holding a rose between his fingers, rolling it around and admiring its bright colour every turn, waltzing around the room and observing the beautiful paintings he had not managed to steal from the younger Nation, wondering if Italy would notice if he were to grab one and run –then again, he was still demanding the others back even present day, so maybe it was not a good idea.

Smiling to himself again, France reached for the closest window and opened it, stopping to admire one painting of a delightful half–naked woman which, under the sunlight coming from outside, looked even more gorgeous.

Yes, definitely, Italy knew how to paint. It was a shame he didn't do it as often nowadays…

"Ve~ please, stop!"

Blinking in surprise, Francis peered from the window, trying to locate the voice of his guest in the outside garden; he had let himself in as usual, without warning nor asking Feliciano for permission, and as the Italian was nowhere to be seen Francis had actually thought he was gone to see Ludwig…

Ah, there he was… France smirked and leaned over, observing the Italian being chased around the garden by… was that one Bulgaria?

On the side, Germany was hiding his face in his hands, apparently embarrassed even though there was no one around to assist at the scene.

Apparently, Bulgaria had decided to come visit, too.

"Bulgaria, would you please stop teasing Italy" he called out, voice deep and commanding.

The other Nation turned around, shrugging "but it's so fun!" he returned his attention to a whiny Italy, who had been trying to scoot away, and poked at his shoulder. "Besides, it's not like he's going to do anything about that at all" he chuckled, poking him again.

"Ve~" Italy struggled a bit, moving away and flushing in a pout, and France couldn't but chuckle.

He mildly wondered whether to call them on his presence, but decided otherwise, as it looked like they had been like this for a while already.

"Bulgaria, please…" Germany was clearly few steps away from losing the last bits of patience. He knew how Bulgaria was –he liked to say everything on his mind without thinking it through, and that sometimes he got over his head and said things in a mean way. He didn't want him to bother Italy too much.

The other man stopped for a moment, throwing a glance at Italy, who was glancing in gratitude at the German, then snorted out.

"Please, Ludwig" he rolled his eyes "Italy here has been unable to shape up, even with you breathing on his neck during the war, and he's definitely useless… what if I tease him about it? He's so weak! I mean, really weak" he continued, watching in amusement as Italy's cheeks turned redder. "Besides, it's obviously not your fault if he's so incompetent".

"I–I'm not incompetent!" Italy growled, his pout twitching lower.

Under France's curious eyes, Bulgaria let out another snort. He was actually stating a fact, which made him feel righteous and not at all mean. "You're not? You've been useless during all the fights you were a part of! Your incompetence shamed Germany in front of the other Nations because he was your ally… besides, what is that you did during any kind of war setting that you wouldn't call useless?"

Italy's cheeks flushed harder, and France felt a bit angered at Bulgaria. Back during war, he hadn't liked how England had tried to badmouth Italy, and certainly enough he didn't like it now, especially coming from someone who didn't know Italy all that much, either!

Even though it was quite true, how Italy was a bit… useless, but still. It didn't mean France liked this attitude of Bulgaria!

He hissed, shifting out of the window to get a good look at the scene underneath, catching sight of Italy's growing uneasiness. Despite the situation, he looked quite cute.

"I tried my best! Right, Germany?" trying to gain reassurance from the other nation, Italy turned to the side, tears pooling into his eyes.

"Yeah, sure, your best at cowardly running away every time England popped up" Bulgaria listed, chuckling. "Or how you deserted at night after a long day of march through the desert… or how you can run like hell when retiring, but never when you need to endure during battle! Or how you waste water for your pasta, instead of saving it up…"

The more he spoke the more Italy's face turned redder, and he shifted around, as Germany also flushed and looked to the side. "That's… that's harsh, Bulgaria" he muttered, even though all of what the Nation was saying was true.

Italy was clearly put off by this reaction, and gasped quietly, looking back at Bulgaria, who had continued with his list, uncaring of Germany's comment.

"And your wanting to slack off? I mean, how much of a pussy can you be? It's war, it's not a trip to the beach…"

Italy froze.

"Face it, Feliciano, you're so useless no one would ever want to side with you in a serious situation…" Bulgaria chuckled, then actually thought about it. "Well, I wouldn't side with you during a game either. You're just weak and useless, and would make any team crush on the ground without even trying!"

"I…"

"Like, 'oh, I'm so sorry! Don't hurt me, don't hurt me!' if someone comes close, throwing your arms in the air" Bulgaria continued mockingly, waving his arms around. "or saying things like 'I have relatives over at your house! Don't hurt me~'…"

He moved forwards, poking Italy's chest with one finger, smirking down at him.

"Bulg–"

"And then crying and being your useless self… what's to say about this, everybody knows it already! What do you think they're thinking when you stroll around all happy? They look at you and feel pity, that's what they do!"

Another poke, a bit stronger. Italy flinched.

From above, France leaned forwards a bit more.

"But of course he wouldn't know this" Bulgaria continued, mockingly shrugging, and turning back to Germany, who was unable to look away at the scene the same way one wouldn't be able to not stare at a car crash. "After all, everybody knows how stupid Italy is. Always smiling, even when someone hurts him, always crying for his mom, cowering around, with that silly face" he laughed, shaking his head in mock sufferance. "Right, cute Ita? You're a big baby, yes, you are" his voice turned high pitched, childish. "Look at yourself, will you? Smiling and acting like an idiot, not understanding that other nations are laughing at you…"

Italy was trembling now, France realised –maybe he'd need someone to step in so Bulgaria would stop picking on him… the boy wasn't evil, but he didn't really know where to stop. He went a bit too far, and Germany was just standing there, as France was, too shocked to react to his attitude…

"It's obvious you're not respected, and that everyone thinks of you as a nuisance. Are you just too stupid to even try to get better?"

Italy looked down to the ground, still trembling…

"Pity you're so wea–"

"I've had _enough_!"

Much to France and Germany's shock, Italy slapped away Bulgaria's hand, brown eyes flaring in anger.

"I'm sorry?" Bulgaria, still with a smile frozen on his lips, stared at him in amusement. "Like you'd have the guts to actually stand up against–"

"I'm. Definitely. _Tired_" Italy's eyes flamed in anger as he shifted forwards, pointing one finger right at Bulgaria. "You don't get it, do you?" he hissed, eyes narrowing in anger, face flushed and shoulders trembling.

Bulgaria simply blinked.

"I'm tired! Pissed off! _Incazzato nero_" fisting his hands, Italy tried to breathe in, but he was far too angered to calm down. "Who the fuck do you think you _are_?! Do you have fun? Huh? Are you really such a _dick_ that you cannot stop to think about your own words, or are you simply opening your mouth to air the empty space between your ears?"

Bulgaria flinched, surprised, under the quickly darkening eyes of a very pissed off Italian.

"Did you ever consider something else, in that small, empty place that your mind is, that maybe my sheer hatred for war kept me from fighting with all my strength? That maybe, just maybe, but of course your limited intelligence might have failed you on this," he sneered, flicking his wrist "that I prefer devoting myself to the arts, instead of mindlessly hurt and be hurt back, and that I have more brains than you will ever hope to have?"

He advanced, still flushed, still terribly angry, fury clearly flaring up in his eyes and stance, and suddenly, Bulgaria felt terribly, terribly afraid all at once.

"I've had enough of being badmouthed for my hatred for war" Italy continued, his hissing strained but still composed, vibrating in sheer rage "Do you think I enjoy it, the whispers, the snickers behind my back? Do you think I enjoy to know I'm being made fun of because I took a stance? Do you think I'm so stupid that I don't notice?"

"Err… actual–"

"Oh, _of course_" Italy's voice took on a mocking tone that none of the presents had ever heard him using "it's silly Italy, he wouldn't notice… well, sweetie, I _did_" he growled out, meeting Bulgaria's eyes with his own. Bulgaria flinched again. "I was patient –I know how immature, young kids can get. Liking war, mocking those who don't– but naturally I had my own ideas… I might not be the most courageous person, but I've seen battles, I've seen war and death and I don't like them. I don't have any problems with my fear of battles, and I realise it's a fault, but you know what?"

Slowly, he stepped forwards, fists still shaking in anger, and Bulgaria eeped.

"_I don't care_. Because this is how I am, and I won't allow the likes of you to dare to judge me and my actions. Germany never did once laugh at me, or badmouth me behind my back, always being straight forwards, and he always stood by my side despite my weakness, and you –you, Bulgaria, _you know nothing of me_".

He growled again, and looking at the quivering nation in front of him, Italy sneered and pointed to the gate of his garden. "And now, kindly leave my house. You're not welcome here anymore".

France almost slipped down from the windowpane, staring at the sight of a furious Italian backing Bulgaria to the corner of the garden, almost kicking him out.

Italy looked…

Italy looked…

"_Mon Dieu, _so_ sexy_…" France was uncomfortably constricted in his southern regions, and gulped down his sudden rush of arousal, completely shocked.

His eyes could not snap away from the flushed, angered face of Italy as Germany, feeling uncomfortable about his own lack of action, kept his distance until Bulgaria was gone, and Italy kept breathing hard, in an attempt to calm down, shocked about snapping so badly.

He'd never seen Feliciano this angered –not when he'd told him about Holy Roman's death, not when he'd refused to give his paintings back, not when he'd teased the hell out of him, even selling Corsica…

Yes, Feliciano always had looked cute and Francis had enjoyed teasing him, groping him, wanting to do more but always having to back away for some reason, but now…

Oh, God.

France had found a new addiction.

Just picturing that flushing, sexy Italy writhing underneath him, growling, hissing… ah, it was enough to let him wanton, fingers twitching against the windowpane.

He needed to see Italy this angered again. More than just this, he wanted to see him losing control, completely flustered, angered, burning in rage, and he wanted to tame that anger, fuel it in the right direction, control it and own it completely–

Right then and there, as he watched in dismay Italy smile at Germany as if nothing was wrong, hiding whatever remained of his anger under his usual happy, silly smile, France swore (whilst pushing his erection against the wall under the window, groaning) that he would make Italy angry again, even if this killed him.

Oh, yes. _Definitely_.

……………………………………………

As it was, and France had to admit it, manage to get Italy to lose it again was quite the feat.

The Italian nation was back to his usual silly, happy attitude, and nothing France could say made it change –he'd tried poking at him with various puns, but Italy really simply looked on, smiling, and ignored his words.

The more France tried, the more it resulted in a pouty, sad Italy looking at him as if asking 'why are you so mean?', which wasn't exactly what he wanted.

He wanted to see Italy angry.

Seething angry.

So angry he would not oppose to any of France's requests.

But alas, the guy was harder to crack than England without booze. Not that France ever tried.

"Ita~"

Italy froze. Whilst usually he liked to see France, and enjoyed his presence, as long as he could ignore how lecherous he could become, lately his self–appointed older brother had been quite nasty, always picking on him, messing up with his mind… so much that Italy had a half idea to run from France in the first place, and take shelter at Germany's.

"Brother France~" he sighed, half pouting, half smiling.

"My Ita~" France hugged Italy to his chest, thinking how he could manage to get him angry. "How was your day!"

"Ve~ brother France keeps popping up daily now…" fidgeting, Italy slithered out from the older Nation's arms and took some steps backwards.

"Am I not allowed to see my Ita~?"

"Ve~"

France nudged at Italy's side. "Say, do you have any new paintings?"

Italy pouted "n–no! Stay away from my paintings! You have to give me mine back still!"

Caught on, France turned a bit threatening "you want to play war with brother, Feliciano? You really do, do you?"

"Hii! No! I'm sorry! I won't mention it again!"

The Italian ran away from France, determined in leaving the now frighteningly dangerous zone and go get some pasta. France cursed again. It was harder than he thought, especially since he could not control the possessiveness over Italy's paintings (he _really_ didn't want to give those back!).

But really, the only thing that seemed to work was mentioning how he was weak, and yet, even with that, it was so hard to have some sort of reaction from the Italian that was not hurt. France needed to come up with something soon.

………………………………

"Gyaaah! It's the French bastard!"

Romano's natural reaction at France's appearance was, of course, to be scared. He'd long since learned that whenever the French leech was around, his vital regions (or basically, any part of his body) wasn't safe.

Unfortunately, Spain, the shitty bastard, wasn't even around! He had nowhere to hide!

"Wait, _mon chere_! I am not here to do anything to you!" _'at least not before I get your brother, at least…'_

Lovino froze, glaring at Francis from behind the tree, and carefully weighted his options. He didn't really trust the other, but he had his trusty tomatoes at hand, and he would use them if needed, before running for his life.

"What do you want, French toad! Fuck off! Damn you!" he held the tomato harder, feeling it soften in his grip.

"I want to ask you about Feli~" France winked at the older of the Italian brothers, trying to look sultry and non–threatening –and failing at that.

"S–stay away from my brother, you jerk! Spain! Damn you, where _are_ you!"

France sighed. "I just want to know how to make Feliciano angry… if you help me, I won't stalk you when you shower anymore!" _'and what a waste will that be…'_

Romano felt his cheeks redden in anger. "You do _**what**_ when I shower?!"

Ok, maybe he was not doing this right, but still. France was feeling a bit helpless, and the mere thought of how sexy Italy looked… the blazing eyes… the flush… it was enough to turn him on and edge him to work harder.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by a tomato exploding on his face; as he fell backwards, completely stunned, he heard Romano run away, hissing and spitting curses and yelling for Spain.

"…"

Definitely, he had to try something else.

………………………………

France knocked on the door in front of him with glee clear on his face, eyes glinting in excitement as he waited.

If there was someone who knew Italy enough, that was Austria, as the kid had lived in his house for a long while, back in the 1700's. Sure enough, he wouldn't be able to just go to Germany and ask for help, he would get punched (just like that time, when he tried to molest Italy and grab Corsica… damn that German…), but Austria wouldn't be that hard to crack, right?

As he waited for the door to open, France started entertaining lecherous, perverted thoughts again. Every time he thought about Italy's face, he couldn't but add new things he would do to him once he had him underneath…

Ah, the sweet, delectable mental pictures…

Italy writhing, as he licked the expense of naked skin… those flushed cheeks, burning in anger, arousal and helplessness as France turned his attention where it mattered…

"Oh, yes, baby…" he even started drooling, lost in his daydream.

Hungary, who had been visiting Austria's house to check up how the man was doing, was actually the one who opened the front door after the doorbell rang for the third time, followed by a loud, insistent knocking.

Already bothered by the annoying persistence showed by whoever was visiting, she stomped to the entrance and slammed the door open…

Only to find France. Drooling. With one of his perverted, lecherous expressions, flushed and panting, hands twitching, eyes glazed over…

"You _**pervert**_!"

There was virtually no timeframe between her yell and her arm moving, slamming her frying pan on France's face and sending him flying.

When France came to, from a sexy wet dream of angry Italy, face throbbing in seething pain, he realised that maybe asking Austria also was not an option.

There was only one solution.

………………………………

"You want… what?"

France stared at Bulgaria with a hopeful smirk, almost wagging an invisible tail.

"I want you to work on making Italy angered" he repeated, trying to look serious and collected, and not to let on as to why he wanted that.

"… why would I want to do that?" Bulgaria rolled his eyes, sipping on his drink. "Italy is not _nice_ when angry". He visibly shuddered, remembering the blazing eyes of fury directed at him.

"… exactly" France smiled.

Bulgaria frowned, looking at France with suspicion "you're strange, you know that?"

France chuckled.

"So… will you help me?"

"I still want to know why. Besides, it's not like I could do it consciously" Bulgaria reasoned, completely oblivious to how he had acted the other day. "I don't have anything against the kid… even though I like to hit him…" he added as an afterthought.

France looked to the side, rolling his eyes. He knew he had to resort to bribing.

"I'll pay you" he stated. "Just give me your price".

He'd do anything–

"I want six of your best wine bottles then!" Bulgaria greedily stated, jumping into a standing position and slamming his hands on the table. "And I don't mean the cheap wine you bring out for England –I mean the _good_ stuff".

"Deal" Francis nodded, standing up as well. "You'll have then when you're finished with him, is that ok?"

Bulgaria smiled happily. France felt way happier still.

"Why is it, then? I'm curious –do you just want to pick on him?"

France smirked then, eyes lowering and turning darker with lust, and Bulgaria promptly decided that no, he didn't really need to know.

………………………………

"Hello, Italy!"

Feliciano turned around, frowning a bit as he took notice of the person standing a few feet from him, smiling brightly.

"Bulgaria…" he muttered.

Italy had never truly hated someone, so he couldn't say he hated Bulgaria, but of course he had been badmouthed by him, and he had actually cracked against him, so it made things different. Not to mention he had cracked in front of Germany~ so it was even worse!

Still, he knew how easily Bulgaria opened his mouth to let air in and out, and that once he started, he couldn't stop… despite his lingering annoyance, Italy decided that maybe he was here to apologize.

"I just wanted to…" Bulgaria stopped mid–sentence, and inwardly frowned.

If he were to say he was sorry, he would not accomplish what France had asked him, and thus he would not get his wine bottles… but he was indeed sorry if Italy had turned angered at him the other day. He didn't remember exactly what he had said to make him so annoyed, but still…

Most of all, just looking at Italy, so innocent, so clueless… he wanted to bully him… he definitely wanted to–

"Ve…?" Italy frowned.

Realising he had been staring mutely at Italy for the last few minutes, Bulgaria turned his head to the side, thinking it through.

"Uhm… you suck at playing soccer!"

Italy tilted his head to the side, one eye twitching. He was not someone easily ticked off, but after what he said a few days before, Bulgaria definitely was not on his favourite list of people.

"Must I remind you we kicked your ass the other day at the qualifications?" he stated, feeling a bit vindictive and satisfied when Bulgaria twitched.

"Uh… it was a fluke! You usually suck!" Bulgaria covered up, feeling ashamed at having been proven wrong.

After all, he did feel a bit bad for his loss against useless Italy.

"Oh, is that so? I think it's your team the one who sucks" ok, maybe there was more than a lingering resentment left, and Italy inwardly wondered if he should just leave Bulgaria and go somewhere to eat pasta.

The idea sounded quite alluring, but the swelling annoyance in his chest was not yet sated, and to see unrepentant Bulgaria adding salt on his wounds make it all worse.

"Dare repeat that?!" Bulgaria was definitely ticked off.

No one talked about his prized soccer team like that, especially not Italy!

Italy stepped forwards, half–pouting, half–frowning. "Your team sucks! We scored twice, and did it splendidly, especially the second goal –and you couldn't even make one comeback… it looks as if you really are just airing out your brain!"

Bulgaria growled in distaste.

"Well, even then, you're still useless! You might be sometimes good at playing soccer, but I'm not the one with cotton in his brain!" gone was his carefully planned list of insults. Italy was going _down_.

From the side, carefully hiding behind a tree, France fought the need to facepalm; surely Bulgaria had started off badly, but apparently he was going the right direction… and it did help Italy was still hung on their previous meeting.

'_Yes… Feli… show me your anger…'_

"What did you say?" eyes narrowing a bit, Italy wasn't angered yet, but he surely was getting there.

"I said you're just your useless self, Italy" Bulgaria stressed his name, as if talking to a child. "What are you going to do now, huh? Go crying to your Germany again about me picking on you? Huh? Huh?"

Bulgaria poked Italy on the cheek, making him whine a bit.

"You're going to go all 'Germany~ protect me~ meanie Bulgaria is poking at me~ and insulting my soccer team', are you?"

He poked him again, smirking and circling the shorter Nation, smirking all the while. He could see Italy's trembling hands, and _knew_ the other was this close to crying.

"Poke poke poke poke!" he chuckled, poking him.

France felt the irresistible need to go poke Bulgaria away, but resisted. This was all for the greater good…

Well, unless Italy started crying… then he'd have to call the deal off and reduce Bulgaria in a puddle of bloody goo. Maybe he'd go tell Russia some story and let _him_ do the job…

"Stop!" Italy shifted away from Bulgaria, eyes blazing in anger.

'_Oh… yes…_' France felt the familiar tug on his vital regions that made his mouth salivate in expectation.

Bulgaria, obviously, did not stop, too gone to even notice Italy's growing annoyance.

"Look, Germany, I'm poking useless Italy! Just like during the war –I also wanted to poke you back then, and we were in the same team! How fucked up is that? How could you be so weak to let everyone do their bidding? Poor, weak, wimpy Italy…"

"Didn't you have enough last time?!" Italy promptly straightened up, glaring at Bulgaria for all it was worth. "Are you so masochistic that you can't back down?!"

Bulgaria puffed his chest out "at least I'm not a wimpy–"

He had no chance to add anything else, as Italy suddenly bolted forwards, ready to resolve to more immediate ways to make him shut up.

"I said stop! You useless piece of Nation! Do you get off on insulting other nations? Are you this stupid?! _Huh_?!"

He grabbed Bulgaria's shirt by the neck and held it tightly, staring in the other nation's eyes with fury building up. No, he had not been able to let go of all the anger built with the previous round, and it had been boiling inside him, wanting out.

Well, this was the perfect time to get it all out.

"You–"

"Feliciano!" promptly stepping out from behind the tree, France jumped at the occasion. He knew he shouldn't allow this opportunity to go wasted.

Italy blinked, momentarily turning his attention from Bulgaria, who was understandably feeling like a trapped mouse, and France; brown eyes narrowed down –he was so angered at what Bulgaria kept saying that he didn't mind more targets to work off onto…

France shivered visibly when the blazing brown eyes fixed on him, but of course his shivering had another origin entirely.

"What do you want, brother France~?" Italy pouted.

Bulgaria, catching on it was his chance, disentangled Italy's hands from his clothes and ran. Italy turned towards his retreating form in a split second, scowling.

"You…"

"You're out of a target now, _mon petit Italie_?"

Something in Francis' voice made Feliciano stop in his tracks. He was still breathing heavily out of anger, but now, somehow, the other had moved closer, and was towering over him; a second later, Francis was holding his arm, staring into his eyes.

"What!" for once not feeling like giving up his anger, Italy kept scowling. "Who do you think is to blame for this?"

A chuckle from the older Nation "Well, but I could offer you… a way to relieve yourself, hmm?"

Italy felt France's hand shift around his waist, and shuddered, his flushed cheeks turning on a different shade of red when he felt fingers slip under his shirt, touching the naked skin of his back.

"W–wha…?"

Then, without warning, France's lips were on his, overpowering and strong; Italy gasped out in shock, allowing France's tongue inside his mouth, licking and sucking, demanding him to relinquish control.

Italy felt his anger sparkle again, and without thinking started kissing back, fingers grasping at the other's chest to steady himself.

His tongue slipped to meet France's, battling and licking, and he was barely aware that he needed to breathe until the French suddenly pulled away, leaving him gasping and trembling, slumped against his broad chest.

"Wha…" flushed and panting, Italy looked up in confusion and light annoyance, and met France's blue eyes, darkened in lust and desire, and shut up.

"As I said… I offer you another way to vent off… one you wouldn't mind, I think".

The hands around his waist suddenly moved inside his clothes, brushing and groping at his back, fingers slipping down to feathery brush lower, lower, at the same time other fingers reached in the front, pinching at his nipples…

Italy let out a loud, startled gasp, fingers tightening his hold on France's clothes as he felt his legs tremble under the assault. Eyes still locked with the blue eyes of the French, Italy felt his resolve crumble under the onslaught.

Allowing his unfamiliar anger free, he leaned forwards and kissed France –quick but determined.

"I guess I have your answer" France murmured, pleased.

France felt a smirk twitch against Italy's lips, meeting the wide, enraged eyes of the Italian with his own lustful gaze, and let his hands wander all over the still far too clothed body, pushing him backwards.

Yes, that was how it should be–

Italy's anger was all concentrated on him. It made him shiver in delight again.

"You made…" Italy hissed when one of France's hands caressed his chest under the shirt, barely brushing against a nipple, teasing. "You made Bulgaria run –why were you _there_?"

"I wanted to make you angry" was the murmured reply. France knew he was threading on dangerous grounds, but he didn't care. He had a fuming, willing Italy in his arms, and he wanted him angry. Hissing, furious…

"_Che cosa_?"

Just like he was now.

Brown eyes narrowed and dark, staring at him in shock, the anger shifting with arousal when France brushed a nipple with his nails. Despite trying to hold on his anger, Italy hissed and his fingers clenched around France's expensive shirt.

There was still a bit of convincing to do, but France had everything in his hands now –he was not going to let it all go.

"Angry, enraged… furious" he continued, lowering his voice to a rumbling murmur, leaning forwards and tracing the shell of Italy's ear with his tongue.

"Y–you…" a small groan slipped past trembling lips, and Italy growled, one hand moving upwards to grab at France's hair, tugging at it almost fiercely.

France let out a wanton hiss. "_Oui –moi_".

The following kiss was as heated as molten lava, France nibbling at Italy's lips, tongue slipping inside, only to have the Italian bite down on it, although not entirely too painfully, his tongue coming to curl around, sucking and pushing and dancing, in a fierce attempt at controlling the kiss.

France enjoyed coaxing Italy out, this rare side of need to control a treat, then with his hands he ripped the shirt the other nation was wearing, satisfying noise of popped buttons falling on the grass around them, his hands free to roam everywhere, rubbing–

"Hnnn–"

Italy faltered in his kissing, eyes showing anger sparkling up again at France's subtle attack, and his hands quickly returned the favour to France's shirt, tugging at it until it was open, pushing it out of reach, trying to stop France's motions and trying to retaliate.

"You did it because o–of _this_" he shuddered, shifting away from France's touches, and yet with that kind of sweet desire France enjoyed so much.

France pulled away from bruised, swollen lips and trapped Italy against a tree, a knee coming in–between his legs, pushing and teasing, hands rubbing at the nipples, lips coming to meet with the delicious skin of Italy's neck as the Italian hissed, overwhelmed but not about to let the French win.

"Yes" he purred.

Italy stretched, nibbling at France's ear, trying to ignore the rush of pleasure when the knee was shoved harder–

"Ah… Fr–France…"

Teeth and tongue and lips lowering to reach his fingers, circling a nipple and moving, teasing, biting and pulling…

Italy groaned, pushing his legs further apart with a vicious snap, and shoved France away from his erected nipples, shivering.

He needed more of this, more and _more_, and he was still angered that France had tricked him like this…

He leaned forwards, taking Francis by surprise and grabbing the French's lower lip between his teeth, nibbling and pulling, hands holding his head still, sucking on the lip and twirling his tongue; Francis let out a pleased groan, and pushed his knee up even more, having Feliciano now resting most of his weight on it, growing erection pressed and rubbed.

"More…" the Italian hissed, nails digging into Francis' hair as he deepened the kiss once more. "If you dare stop now–"

"_Mais non, mon petit Italie…_" France's eyes were glinting, darkened in pleasure and desire, and Italy swallowed hard, feeling his own need sparkle up. "I'd never stop –not now that I have what I want… right here…"

"Good".

Then France kissed him again.

Everything blurred out, heated passion guiding their motions as they both explored each other's bodies, feverish touches on burning skin, tongues meeting and dancing together, fingers grazing, brushing–

Feliciano's shirt fell carelessly on the grass, hands curling around his waistband and pushing the pants down as well, completely bypassing his underwear and instead delighting in exploring the territories underneath it.

Feliciano let out a startled moan, cheeks flushing hard, hands clenching around Francis' nipples and scratching at them in shock; Francis hissed, but the sharp pain had the same enticing pleasure of conquering a wild beauty.

One hand holding Italy up, France roughly grabbed his aroused erection and pumped it once –hard and fast.

"Hn–nn… ah…" Italy clenched his eyes shut, moans vibrating in his throat, which France was kissing, and his entire frame trembled, arms now coming to take a hold around France's shoulders.

"Harder, _mon petit_?"

"Ah… _sì_…"

France obeyed, pushing himself in–between Italy's legs, pants discarded on the grass as well, shoving one of the Italian's legs upwards, and thrusting his hand down.

Moans and little yelps left the younger Nation's swollen lips like a soft song, and France was careful in his pushing, pausing and tightening his grip, coaxing more sounds and more shivering from Italy, and at the same time torturing him, never truly offering him an end.

"Fr–Fr–_ah_…nce…"

Italy drowned away, the skilled hands working on his body, on his arousal, creating a bubbling pleasure that kept burning inside, making his thoughts blurred and his sight unfocused; unable to return the touches, he barely held himself flush against the broader body of France, vocally showing his pleasure.

"M–_more_…" he begged, but France stilled his motions, panting against his neck and nibbling at it; Italy could feel, albeit vaguely, his smirk. "France… p–please… why… why did…"

Blue eyes looked up, meeting his brown ones, and Italy slowly came to, panting hard and feeling his whole body buzzing in need, twisting and twitching and writhing, demanding completion, demanding…

"Brace yourself" was the murmured warning, lips turned upwards, amused tone.

Then, Italy felt a finger wiggle inside, pushing through, slick and wet and coated with something cold.

"_Ngh_!" scrambling to hold on France's shoulders again, Italy threw his head back, shocked at the unexpected motion.

It felt weird, and his inner muscles clenched instinctively, causing France to let out a moan, a clear promise of what was to come.

"Relax" he hummed, manoeuvring a second finger inside, stretching and pushing the tight walls aside, sliding easily thanks to his cherry scented lube. "I told you –I'm not going to stop".

Italy felt a third finger join the two already inside him, and this time it sent a twinge through his body; he doubled over, hiding his face in the nick of France's neck, and angered at France's actions and taunt, he bit down on it.

France hissed, bumps running down his arms, and instinctively pushed his fingers deeper.

It was hot and tight and his brain was already humming, his own erection throbbing painfully, only wanting to plunge in.

Then, a hand forced his fingers out, and looking up in surprise, France met the Italian's angered eyes –clearly, a simple 'brace yourself' wasn't enough of a warning. He chuckled, harder than ever.

Italy tried to stead himself in a standing position, then pushed France down on the grass, growling when France's eyes darkened with understanding and desire, and quickly undid the other's pants, freeing his erection.

At contact with cool air, Francis let out another moan, looking up lasciviously at Italy, knowing exactly what was going through his mind and clearly enjoying it.

He spread his legs, erection jutting up, leaking precum already, and dared Italy to continue.

"Y–you…" Italy, feeling anger and lust cloud his mind, could only stare down, drinking in France's smug expression and the show the other was putting on, unashamedly showing his now exposed body fully to Italy's prying eyes.

Italy shifted, crawling over France's body, fingers brushing at the skin, astounded at what they were doing, his new temper flaring again at France's attitude, but for a second he hovered above France's waiting erection, knowing what he had to do but suddenly insecure.

France noticed it, despite Italy's attempt at controlling him, and his smirk melted into a fond smile for an instant; then, he smirked again.

"Don't you have the guts to keep on, Italy?"

Feliciano growled. A split moment later, he was pushing down on France's erection.

France could only stare, drooling, at the multitude of emotions flashing on Italy's face as he pushed down –resentment, determination, pain, because he was barely stretched, and France's size was way bigger than that of a few fingers, then a flicker of pleasure when the tip of the erection brushed against a spot inside him, and its length rubbed at his inner walls.

"Ahnnn…" lips parted wide to allow short, quick gasps, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, a mix of pain and pleasure that France was sure were making Italy's body twitch and burn.

And of course, had France been less experienced, the feeling of being inside Italy would have had him coming already, so tight, hot and welcoming.

Why had he never really pursued Italy into this before?

Brown eyes fluttered open, glazed over in pleasure, and Italy smirked, even with a dazed look and sweat rolling down his naked body, hands trembling whilst they tried to hold his body still.

"France…" and there it was, Italy's sultry voice, vaguely pouting, low and seducing. France twitched, and his erection hardened further inside Italy, making him gasp in shock, cheeks burning red.

Italy slowly leaned down, hissing but joining lips with France for a slow, heated kiss. He wanted nothing but let himself fall on the other's chest, already overwhelmed by the sensations, but he also wanted _more_.

"You're so tight…" France whispered, tone low and rumbling.

Their bodies pressed together, France's hands holding his hips, a darkening bruise on his neck where Italy had bit him, all of it made Italy's desire heighten.

Carefully, he lifted himself up, feeling France's erection slip outside, rubbing at his inner skin, and it felt already _so_ good…

Then, Italy let himself fall down again.

Heat and pleasure rushed straight through him at the same instant, blinding him and making him yell, and everything inside him was rubbed and massaged and–

"Ahhhh…"

He lifted himself up again, barely able to hold his weight on his trembling tights, and slammed down again, drowning in his own pleasure, in France's contented groans, in the heat, moaning and groaning and pushing upwards again, unable to stop–

"Nnnn… ah… _aaah_…"

France's hands tightened on his sides, helping him move, and then there was nothing but movement and heat and building white spots in Italy's vision, up and down, gaining speed, messily thrusting and pushing and trying to hold on something, almost sobbing…

"Fr–France… ah… s–so _good_…"

Then his arms and legs couldn't hold him up anymore, too tired and trembling with pleasure, and he crumbled down, whining and wailing as he still tried to match France's own shoving, strong tights now doing most of the work from underneath, filling him again and again–

"Aahhhh… ah… yes… _harder_… _**harder**_!"

Slamming in, hands grasping at his aching, neglected and throbbing erection, fondling his balls, pushing and pulling–

At the same time also shoving inside, lips claiming Italy's once, then twice, and more, sucking, kissing, _biting_…

"Oh, _Italie_…"

Bright, white spots exploded behind open lids, and Italy felt his entire body twitch and spasm, as once again something inside him was rubbed at, France shoving inside with raw strength…

"Let _go_, Feliciano…"

Breathless groans in his ear, enveloped in heat, Italy closed his eyes, and tumbled down into the white, climax exploding and eating his conscious away.

France felt the walls around him tighten unbearably, and groaned loudly, eyes wide open to stare as Italy came long and hard, trembling and bucking wildly into his hand.

The sight was enough –France came hard inside the Italian, his own orgasm almost mind blowing, cursing through his body and leaving him breathless and emptied.

Italy slumped down on him, still trembling, France's fingers caressing the now spent length, uncaring with the mess they'd just made, and hands wound around France's neck as an anchor; panting, the two remained silent, recovering.

Italy finally managed to gather enough strength to shift upwards a bit, wheezing and staring straight into France's sated eyes, and despite himself, smiled. He'd never felt this relaxed and… spent ever.

France's tongue darted out to lick at his fingers coated with white cum, much to Italy's shock and following gasp, then he trailed his fingers down Italy's back, making him shiver and curl closer.

"Didn't this… solve the problem?" France all but purred, sensuously grinning whilst he traced Italy's entrance, reminding the other that he had yet to slip out. "Your anger is gone, _non_?"

Feliciano flushed hard, moaning when the hand moved in between them, teasing his sensitized erection and causing more shivers of pleasure. "Ah… y–yes…"

"But you wouldn't mind if I were to… make entirely sure that your anger is gone, right?"

Italy yelped when France rolled them over, his back meeting with cool grass, but simply smiled in reply, chuckle bubbling up inside him.

"No, I guess not" he replied, licking his lips.

––– **Omake** –––

France observed Italy whine at Germany again for some pasta, pouting and waving his arms around, and slowly turned towards Prussia, who was apparently lost in his thoughts of his awesome self.

The bird on the German's head chirped, and was obviously ignored.

Germany reprimanded Italy, swatting at his head, and Italy promptly went to whine at Japan, who shook his head, flustered at the sudden attention.

To the right, England and America were throwing insults at each other, with Russia hovering in the background. The other nations were also pretty active.

The World meeting was bound to be just as messy as ever, France was sure of it.

Then, somewhere to the left of the table, France, who had been about to stand up and do something entertaining as well, heard Bulgaria scoff and mutter something about soccer losses to Ireland and Cyprus, evidently about to go on a rant against the Italian team; back with the ex–Axis, France saw Italy's head twitch and perked up considerably, his lips turning into a barely concealed, excited smirk.

"Say, Gilbert…" France purred, smirking and lifting a rose to his lips, licking at its petals. Prussia turned around, curious. "Want to know something… interesting?"

……………………………………………

**StarsOfYaoi:** So, that's the end :D yes, the omake made me crack up so I just had to add it…

Italy got angered quicker the second time because he was still harbouring some dissatisfaction he hid after chasing Bulgaria out the previous chapter.

Italy–Bulgaria qualification soccer game was won 2–0 by Italy. Also, Italy won against Ireland and Cyprus as well. I don't usually follow soccer plays as I don't like it, but when Italy plays against some other nation, I do watch it. More now that I know hetalia. :D

_Incazzato nero _(Italian): Deeply furious

_Mon Dieu _(French): My God

_Oui – moi_ (French): Yes – me

_Che cosa_ (Italian): What

_Mon petit_ (French): my little

_Mais non, mon petit Italie _(French): no, my little Italy

_Sì _(Italian): yes


End file.
